To the Stars Trilogy Part 48

A minor change for the main body of the squadron," he moved one knife slightly away from the other, "since we don't want it to come out into the waiting missiles of the defense forces, which will be in position by that time. But a major change for the remaining two ships. This one and the troop transport.

We change orbit and pile on the G's. We whip around the Moon like a weight on a string-and come out here. Far from the defenses and on a precise orbit for Earth."

'An orbit that will eventually terminate over the Mojave?"

"Exactly. The Dannebrog will supply cover, a missile umbrella screen against anything coming up from Earth. That should be easy because they have to rocket up out of the gravity well. We should have plenty of time to pop them off as they come. And we have nothing to fear from the Moon bases behind us since they will have had a few bombs and iron cannonb.a.l.l.s down their throats to, give them something else to think about."

"You make it sound simple," Jan said.

"I know. But it isn't. Warfare never is. You plan as best you can, then chance and the human factor come into it to produce the final results." He poured agla.s.sful of akvavit from the water-beaded bottle and threw it down his throat. 'A few more of these, then a good slee~and we see what is waiting for us when we come out from behind the Moon. I suggest you get some rest as well. And if you are the praying type, pray that this strange brother-in-law of yours is really on our side this time."

Jan lay down, but could not sleep. They were hurtling at incredible speed toward an unknown destiny.

Dvora was mixed up in it; he should not be thinking about her, but he was. Halvm6rk, all his friends and the rest of the people there. And his wife; they were light-years away. Light-years from his thoughts as well. This warfare, the killing, it was going to end soon. One way or the other. And Thurgood-Smythe, what about him? He was the deciding factor in the whole equation. Would his plan work~r was it just a convoluted and complex plot to betray and destroy them all? Warm flesh, dead flesh, guns, death and life, all swirled into a jumble and the alarm buzzer startled him awake. He had fallen asleep after all. The reason why he had set the alarm returned through the fog of sleep and a sudden knot of tension formed in his midriff. The battle was entering its final phase.

Jan found Admiral Skougaard in a philosophical mood when he joined him. Skougaard was listening to the muttered comments from the computers and nodding his head as he looked at the displays on the screens.

"Did you hear that?" he asked. "The big cannons are firing again at a target they can't see, that will be destroyed well before they reach it. Have you considered the mathe-matical skill involved in this little exercise that we take so much for granted? I wonder how many years it would take us to do these computations by hand. Look-" he pointed at the cratered surface of the Moon slowly moving by beneath them. "I supplied the computers with accurate photographic maps of the Moon. On these maps I marked the three missile bases that are located on the Earth side of this satellite. After that I simply instructed them to fire the cannon to knock these sites out. That is what they are doing now. In order to do this the Moon must be observed and our orbit, speed and alt.i.tude determined. Then the sites must be located in relation to this...o...b..t. Then a new orbit must be calculated for the cannonb.a.l.l.s, that will include our speed, their launching speed, and the precise angle that will permit their path to terminate on the chosen missile site. Marvelous." His elation vanished as he looked at the time, to be replaced by the studied calm he presented during battle. "Three minutes and Earth will be over the horizon. We'll see then what kind of reception is waiting for us."

As Earth's atmosphere slowly rose into view the rustling static on their radios was replaced by m.u.f.fled voices that became quickly clearer as they moved into line of sight of the stations. The computers scanned all the s.p.a.ce communication frequencies to intercept the enemy messages.

'A good deal of activity," Skougaard said. "They have been stirred up enough. But they have some good com-manders left-all of them better than the late Comrade Kapustin. But if Thurgood-Smythe is doing his job there should be conflicting orders going out. Let us hope so since every little bit helps."

The blue globe of Earth was clearly in sight now; a web of radar signals filled s.p.a.ce, followed instantly by more accurate laser detectors once the rebels had been found. As soon as this happened the invading fleet broke radio silence and began searching and ranging as well. Figures and code symbols filled the displays.

"It could have been better for us," Skougaard said. "Then again it could have been a lot worse."

Jan was silent as the Admiral called for course com-putations, estimates of closing speed, ranges, all of the mathematical details that were the essentials of s.p.a.ce war. He did not hurry, although thousands of miles pa.s.sed while he considered his decision. Once made it was irrevocable-so it had to be right.

"Signal to first squadron in clear. Plan seven. Then contact the second squadron, coded report."

Skougaard sat back to wait, then nodded to Jan. "The enemy has spread a wide web, which is what I would have done myself, rather than risking everything on covering a few orbital boltholes. They knew that we wouldn't come out from behind the Moon on the same orbit we were on when they lost contact with us. This is both good and bad for us. Good for the others in the first squadron. They are in tight orbit for two of the most important Lagrange satellite colonies, the manufacturing ones. Whether they attempt to capture them or not depends entirely upon how hot the pursuit is. We'll know soon when all of the enemy course corrections are completed. It will be a slow stern chase because our opponent's forces are so widely separated. That could be dangerous for us because they could ma.s.s more ships than I would like to intercept us. Let us hope that they get their priorities wrong."

"What do you mean?"

Skougaard pointed at the screen at the image of the troop carrier in orbit beside them. 'At this point in time everything depends upon that ship. Knock it out and we have surely lost the war. Right now its...o...b..t terminates in central Europe, which should give the enemy something to ponder over. But during braking approach its course, and ours, will be changed to put us down in the Mojave. Just one hour after the Israeli attack begins. With our aid the base will be secured, the missile sites captured. When they are secured we can fight off any attack from s.p.a.ce, or destroy the base if attacked by land. End of battle, end of war. But if they knock out that transport, why then we don't take the base, the Israelis will be counterattacked and killed-and we will have lost the war... wait. Signal from the second squadron."

The Admiral read the report and grinned widely. "They've done it! Lundwall and his men have taken all three power satellites." The grin faded. "They fought off the interceptors. We lost two ships."

There was nothing to be said. Capture of these satel-lites, and the orbiting colonies, would be immensely im-portant in ending the war quickly after s.p.a.ceconcent was taken. But right now both actions were basically diversions to split the enemy forces to enable the troop carrier to slip through. How successful these diversions would be would not be known until the Earth forces were established in their new courses.

"Preliminary estimation," the computer said calmly. "Eighty percent probability that three ships will intercept force one alpha."

"I was hoping for only one or two," Skougaard said. "I don't like the odds." He spoke to the computer.

"Give me identification on those three."

They waited. Although the approaching s.p.a.ceships could be clearly observed electronically, they appeared just as points in s.p.a.ce. Until they could be seen as physical shapes the identification program had to look for other identifying signs. Degree of acceleration when changing course gave clues to their engines. When they communi-cated with each other their code ident.i.ties might be discovered. This all took time-time during which the distance between the opposing forces closed rapidly.

"Identification," the computer said. Skougaard spun to face the screens as the numbers appeared there far faster than they could be spoken aloud.

"Til helvede!" he said in cold anger. "Something is wrong, very wrong. They shouldn't be there. Those are their heaviest attack vessels, armed to the teeth with every weapon that they possess. We can't get through. We're as good as dead now."

Twenty-Two.

There was never any uncertainty about the summer weath-er in the Mojave desert. During the winter months condi-tions varied; there could be clouds, occasionally even rain. The desert would be uncharacteristically green then, dusted with tiny flowers that faded and died in a few days. Beautiful. That could not be said about the summer time.

Before dawn the temperature might drop down to thirty-eight degrees, what the Americans, still valiantly resisting the onslaught of the metric system, insisted on calling ninety. It might even be a few degrees cooler, but no more. Then the sun came up.

It burned like the mouth of an open oven as it cleared the horizon. By noon, sixty degrees~Lone hundred and thirty-was not unusual.

The sky was light in the east, the temperature just bearable, when the planes came in to land. The tower at the s.p.a.ceconcent airfield had been in touch with the flight since they had begun to lose height over Arizona. The rising sun glowed warmly on their burnished skins as they dropped down toward the lights of the runway.

Lieutenant Packer yawned as he watched the first arrival taxi up to the disembarkation points. Big black crosses on their sides. Krauts. The Lieutenant did not like Krauts since they were one of the Enemies of Democracy in the paranoid history books that he had been raised on. Along with Commies, Russkies, Spics, n.i.g.g.e.rs and an awful lot of others. There were so many bad guys that they were sometimes hard to keep track O{ but he still managed to feel a mild dislike for the Krauts, even though he had never met one before. Why weren't there good American boys here, defending this strategic base? There were, his company among them, but s.p.a.ceconcent was international, so any UN troops might be a.s.signed here.

But, stil}, Krauts . .

As the engines died the landing stairs slowly unfolded. A group of officers emerged from the first plane and came toward him. Soldiers clattered down behind them and began to form up in ranks. Packer had leafed through Uniforms of the World's Armies briefly, but he could recognize a general's stars without its help. He snapped to attention and saluted.

"Lieutenant Packer, Third Motorized Cavalry." The officer returned the salute.

"General von Blonstein. Heeresleitung. Vere is our transportation."

Even sounded like a Kraut from one of the old war movies. 'Any second now, General. They're on the way from the motor pool. We weren't expectin~ your arrival until..."

"Tail vind," the General said, then turned and snapped out commands in his own language.

Lieutenant Packer looked worried as the newly-formed up troops quick-stepped off toward the hangars. He moved in front of the General who ignored him until he worked up the nerve to speak.

"Excuse me, sir, but orders. Transportation is on the way-here are the first units now-to take your men to the barracks..."

"Goot," the General said, turning away. Packer moved quickly to get in front of him again.

"Your people can't go into those hangars. That is a security area."

"It is too hot. They get in der shade."

"No they can't, really, I'll have to report this." He reached to turn on his radio and one of the officers rapped him hard on the hand with the b.u.t.t of his gun. Then ground it into his ribs. Packer could only stare, speechless, and hold his bruised fingers.

"There is a silencer on that pistol," the General said, all trace of an accent suddenly vanished. "Do as I say or you will be shot instantly. Now turn and walk to that plane with these men. One word, a wrong action, and you are dead. Now go." Then he added in Hebrew, "Inject him and leave him there."

When the last engine had been shut down the com-puter in the control tower disconnected the landing and taxiing program and shut it down as well, signaling that the operation was complete. One of the operators verified with a visual check using field gla.s.ses. All of the planes were wound down now. A lot of trucks and busses about; he wouldn't start clearing the ramps until they had moved out of the area. The convoy officer was going into a plane with two of the newcomers. Probably had a bottle in there.

German soldiers were probably just like their American counterparts. Brawling, boozing and banging.

Good thing they locked them behind wire most of the time.

"In the back, not here," the Corporal said as the soldier opened the cab of the truck and started to climb in.

'Ja, Ja, gut," the soldier said, ignoring the command.

"C'mon, Christ, I don't speak that stuff. In backski, f.u.c.king quickski..." He looked down in amazement as the newcomer leaned over and slapped him on the leg. Some-thing stung. He opened his mouth to protest, then slumped forward over the wheel. The Israeli clicked the safety in place on the palm-hypo and put it into his pocket, then dragged the Corporal from behind the wheel as the door opened on the driver's side. Another Israeli slipped in, taking off his helmet and laying it on the seat beside him, then putting on the corporal's fatigue cap in its place.

General Blonstein looked at his watch. "How much longer to go?" be asked.

"Three, four minutes, no more," his aide said. "Board-ing the last coaches now.

"Good. Any trouble?"

"Nothing important. A few people asking questions have been put to sleep. But we haven't bit any of the guarded gates or buildings yet."

'And we're not going to until everyone is in position. How much longer to jumpoff?"

"Sixty seconds."

"Let's go. These last people can catch us up. We're not going to change the attack schedule for any reason.

Dvora sat next to Vasil who was driving the heavy lorry; her squad wasjammed into the back. Her long hair bad been tied into a bun and hidden under her helmet, her face was bare of any cosmetics.

"How much longer?" Vasil asked, his foot tapping the accelerator, the motor rumbling in response. She glanced at her watch.

'Any second now if they are keeping to plan."

'This is a big placc," he said, looking up at the service towers, gantries an~ warehouses that stretched into the distance behind the wire fence. "We can maybe take it-but we can't hold it."

"You were at the last briefing. We're getting reinforce-ments to consolidate."

"You never said where they were coming from."

"Of course not. So if you're captured you won't be able to talk."

The big man smiled coldly and patted the bandolier of grenades hung about his neck. "The only way they'll capture me is dead. So tell."

Dvora smiled and pointed skyward. "Help will come from there." Vasil grunted and turned away.

"Now you sound like a rabbi," he said, just as her radio sounded a rapid series of high~pitched bleeps.

"Go!" Dvora said, but he already had his foot down on the accelerator. "Gunners ready?" she said into her radio.

"In position," the voice said inside her head. She tightened her chin strap to keep the bone conduction headphone secured in place.

The big truck rolled around the corner of the ware-house and stopped by the military police box there.

The gate that blocked the entrance remained shut. The MP leaned out and scowled.

"You're going on report, buddy, because you are stupid, and you are lost. That thing isn't cleared to come in here...

The time for harmless drug injections had pa.s.sed. Through a slit cut in the canvas cover of the truck the muzzle of a machine gun emerged, firing, sweeping back and forth. Because of the long silencer on the end of the barrel it only made a m.u.f.fled coughing sound; the crash of broken gla.s.s and punctured metal was much louder. A second gun on the other side killed the MP there.

"Ram it," Dvora said.

The heavy truck lurched forward, crashing into the gate, pulling it down with a shriek of torn metal, drove over it. An alarm bell began sounding somewhere in the distance; there was the m.u.f.fled sound of explosions.

Dvora had memorized their route, but she did not believe in taking chances so had the map unfolded on her lap. "Left at the next corner," she said, her finge? on the track marked out in red. "If we don't meet any resistance on the way this should take us directly to our target.

The service road they were on cut through an area of office blocks and warehouses. There was no other traffic. Vasil put his foot to the floor and the heavy truck picked up speed. The gearbox screamed as it shifted into top gear, the soldiers in back grabbing for support as they jarred through a pothole.

"That's the building we want, the big one...

Her words ended in a gasp as the road surface ahead stirred and cracked, crumbled, then split from curb to urb. Vasil was standing on the brakes, the wheels locked, the tires screaming as they skidded, scarcely slowing, burn-ing rubber. They looked on, horrified, braced themselves, unable to do anything else as they saw the concrete fall away in chunks and slabs as a meter-high steel plate levered up to block the road. The slide ended in a metallic crash as the truck drove headlong into the rust-splotched barrier.

Dvora plunged forward, her helmet cracking hard against the metal dash. Va sil clutched her by the shoulders and pulled her erect.

'Are you all right?"

She nodded, dazed by the impact. "This barrier... wasn't mentioned in the briefing A hail of bullets tore through the metal of the truck, crashed through the windows.

"Bail out!" Dvora shouted into her microphone, rais-mg her gun at the same time and putting a long burst into the doorway of a nearby building where she thought she had seen someone move. Vasil was already in the street and she dived after him. Her squad were dropping down and seeking cover, returning the fire.

"Cease firing tintil you see a target," she ordered. 'Anyone hurt?"

There were cuts and bruises, no more. They had survived their first combat encounter and had all found cover, either under the truck or against the building wall.

The firing started again and slugs screamed off the road, sending up spurts of dust and fragments from the side-walk. At the same time there was the bark of a single shot from under the truck and the firing stopped. A metallic clatter sounded, loud in the silence after the firing, as a gun fell from a window across the main road; a man's motionless arm hung down acress the frame.

"There was only the one," Grigor said, snapping the safety back on his rifle.

"We'll advance on foot," Dvora said, looking at the map. "But away from this main road now that the alarm is out. The alleyway across the road. Scouts out, proceed as skirmishers. Go!"

The two scouts, one after another, rushed across the empty road and into the security of the alley mouth.

The rest of the squad followed. They double-timed now, aware of the quick pa.s.sage of the minutes, Vasil grunting to keep up, running heavily under the thirty kilos weight of the big recoilless 50 calibre machine gun, his two ammuijition carriers at his heels.

They crossed one other main avenue, in quick rushes, but met no more resistance. Steel barriers had also risen through the road's surface here; they could see more, at regular intervals, stretching away in.the distance.

"One street more," Dvora said, folding the map and putting it away. "The building will be defended..."

She raised her hand and they all stopped, guns ready, alert.

A man had stepped out of a large open entrance ahead moving cautiously, his back to them. A civilian, apparently unarmed. "Don't move and you will be all right," Dvora said. The man turned and gasped when he saw the armed troops.

"I'm not doing nothing. I was working in there, heard the alarms, what's happening...?"